


The Dragon's Prize

by EffervescentAngel



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Smaug - Fandom, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Redemption, Romance, Semi-Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffervescentAngel/pseuds/EffervescentAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is known by all in Middle Earth for entering Erebor and facing the great serpent Smaug. But he was not the first to do so...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(A Re-Tangled Fairytale)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

__

From the Felling of the Trees of Valinor to the War of Wrath, at the end of the First Age, the Dark Lord Morgoth, with the help of his lieutenants, Gothmog and Sauron, wreaked havoc on Middle Earth and its peoples. Within his stronghold of Angband in the North, Morgoth plotted what he perceived to be his inevitable rule of Middle Earth.

 

Such ambitions require military might to back them up. So Morgoth created an army. He captured elves and tortured them, starved them, beat them and denied them light until, eventually, they found they could no longer bear the light they had once treasured so dearly and the race of Man, once a benevolent neighbor and ally, became a source of food and a target of hatred. Thus the race of orcs was born. As their bodies twisted and changed with their minds, they eventually became able to breed on their own.

 

The goblins and trolls, he harvested from the pits of the earth, woke their ambitions to things far beyond their capabilities and their desires to things far darker than anything they could have dreamed on their own. The wargs he called up from the South, promising them fresh new meat to tear into and dominion over the weaker, gentler animals of Arda. He even went so far as to seduce weaker members of the Valar, who eventually twisted into the Balrogs of Old. But if he was to succeed, Morgoth would need an even greater ally, one who could move great distances at speed.

 

So, in the deepest tunnels of Angband, Morgoth created this ally. A terrifying creature with enormous claws and razor-sharp teeth, scales as hard as iron and a mind that was quick enough to take a large, otherwise clumsy thing and make it an agile, deadly weapon: Glaurung, Father of Dragons, the first Fire Drake in Middle Earth. For over two centuries, Glaurung grew in the darkness of Angband, waiting for the day when his strength would give him the power he desired. But as he waited, he began to think. And as he thought, he realized that although he was a very powerful being indeed, he would never be more than a puppet unless he had some powers of his own.

 

Morgoth was so assured of both his victory and his creation's loyalty, that he gave Glaurung what he asked for; the Dragon's Eye, a stare that would render its victim's motionless along with the ability to reproduce. But the dragon, in his cunning, was taking more than Morgoth knew. For as the Dark Lord worked his magic on him, Glaurung was studying, learning, memorizing the spells and incantations of the Dark Magic.

 

When Morgoth fell, at the end of the First Age, Glaurung retreated far to the North, into the deepest tunnels of the highest mountains. And there he began to create new, dragons. These offspring had the same intelligence of their Father, but were smaller in size. To make up for the size, Glaurung gifted them with wings, and watched with pride as his progeny went soaring into the sky, off to other lands to conquer what they could. For dragons prize the bright glitter of gold above all else. But the Great Dragon's hoard was rumored to be the greatest of all, for he had carefully cultivated it over many centuries. So jealous was he, of his treasure, that his last great act before he was killed was to place a terrible curse on his gold.

 

But as it happens with most things of that nature, it was news of the gold, not the curse that spread fast through Middle Earth. The rumors spread as far south as the human kingdom of Arnor where the king was fighting desperately to gain dominance over its southern neighbor, Gondor. Now the king had three sons. All were spoiled and selfish and desired great glory for themselves and their kingdom. The youngest, however, though very young, possessed a voracious greed, and restless ambition that his elder brothers did not have. When he heard of the hoard, now left unguarded, he decided he would set off at once for the mountains where the treasure was rumored to be kept, take it for himself and his kingdom and use it to barter for the throne. For who could refuse someone who could bring the kingdom such great wealth as the Great Dragon had possessed?

 

Disguising himself in the plain-weave wool of commoners, he set off for the North, telling neither his father nor his brothers for fear they would somehow interfere with his plans. They would simply have to trust that he would return to them in good time. He did have, after all, the best interests of the kingdom at heart. For when he was king, he would _be_ the kingdom.

 

It was a long journey to the mountains in the North, filled with hot, sunny days that drifted into freezing, endless nights. But, at long last, he made it. He used long ropes to lower himself down into the deepest tunnels under the mountain, followed the paths that had been melted by dragonfire and finally, he reached the treasure room. It was both long and wide, and piled high with both gold and jewels. The young prince wondered that such precious treasure had not been more easily hidden. He recognized immediately that he could not carry much back by himself, so he decided that for that day, he would take only one piece.

 

But it must be a special piece, of that he was certain, something that he would take with him always, and remember his great accomplishment. So he surveyed the treasure for a moment, waiting to see what caught his eye. And there, on a small pedestal, at the far end of the room, sitting there as though waiting for him, was a long stemmed rose. But this was no ordinary rose, for its petals were fashioned of enormous, delicately wrought rubies, its stem and leaves crafted from an emerald so dark and flawless that it appeared as a tender green stem, and the center was made of large droplets of pure gold, accented with diamonds. The beauty of such a treasure so enthralled the prince that he knew instantly that he had found his prize.

 

As he took his first sure steps forward, the low sound of laughter swept through the cavern like a ghost, gone before one could be sure it had ever been there. The prince paused only momentarily before continuing on. The sound came again, but this time he ignored it completely. The rose was so close now, the gems glinting in the dim light from a small hole in the side of the mountain. The sound came again, louder this time, but again went unheeded. The rose was almost within his grasp. And finally, he reached it.

 

The moment he grasped it, he was thrown back onto the cold stone floor and the room was instantly filled with blinding, burning light. All sound was drowned out in the roar of fire, flames swirled around, above, and below him. A voice spoke from within the whirl of fire. It did not speak the common tongue, yet its echo did.

 

“See how thieves and trespassers are dealt with.”

 

Gradually, writing began to appear in the wall of fire that surrounded the prince. Thin, elegant markings in a language he had never seen. The flames swirled higher, hotter and closer, until they began to consume him. Yet, strangely, he found his flesh did not burn.

 

“The part of a snake you acted, so a snake you shall become.”

 

A terrible wrenching pain spread through him, unlike anything he had ever known. His screams were lost in the roar of the fire.

 

“Whoever you were, wherever you hail from, what name your mother gave you at birth, no longer matter.”

 

The flames wrapped around his face like a veil.

 

“Time has passed from you. Your identity, I take from you. Your worst fault will be your defining quality, the prize you hold in your hands, your curse.”

 

The rose in his hands began to glow, until it shone more brightly than the sun. It lifted itself from his hands and rose, ever higher, above him until he could feel the light washing down over him, mingling with the fire, coursing through his veins.

 

“You will live on through time, insatiable for that which you sought to take from me, un-aging as you see all you love wither and die. This will continue until you find that which you prize above the bright lure of gold, the brilliant seduction of jewels. _Smaug_ I pronounce you, and _Smaug_ you shall continue to be.”

 

He felt as his bones began snapping and shifting, the cartilage crumbling and reshaping. There was a terrible, wrenching pain in his skull, but he found he could no longer scream. The flames swirled faster and closer about him, a terrible, mighty tornado of fire. Then, all at once, the flames entered his body, nestled deep in his chest, and died. Then all was quiet. It was as though the voice had never been there, nor the heat or the brilliant, blinding light. The pain was gone too, replaced by a strange heaviness in his limbs.

 

Cautiously, he looked around. The gold was gone, the once brimming chamber now empty and bare. The room seemed smaller somehow, the air closer. He felt a cool weight in his hand. Looking down he saw he still held the rose in a hand that was not his own. What had once been an elegant and aristocratic hand was now a large claw, tipped with long talons and covered with scales. He felt a tug in his shoulders and turned to see enormous wings that filled the cavern. A heavy weight at the base of his spine revealed itself to be a long tail, also covered in scales. Reaching up with his free hand, he felt his face. The smooth flesh of a young man had been replaced by a cool shell in a shape he did not recognize. Realization slowly came, clawing its way to the forefront of his consciousness. When it hit, he let out a mighty roar of agony.

 

Clutching the rose to him, he rose up on his new wings and, tearing a hole through the mountainside, flew off towards the East, away from all he had ever known. He had taken his prize, but had not counted on the cost. Which was greater than he knew, for there is nothing a dragon prizes more highly than his treasure.

 

And there is nothing that can convince him to part with it.

 

 


	2. Chapter One

 

Carefully checking to either side of her to make sure the coast was clear, Meral stepped out and quickly made her way along the narrow alleyway that ran between her father's shop and the grocer's. But just as she reached the staircase that led to the rooms she and her father shared, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

 

“Goin' 'ome early luv?”

 

She should have known better than to hope, than to think he _wouldn't_ be waiting for her. Steeling herself to politeness with a deep breath and a short prayer, she turned to face the owner of the voice.

 

Concealing her soul-deep horror for him behind a brilliant smile, she replied, “Good morrow to you, Alfrid. What can I do for the Deputy of Laketown today?”

 

He faltered but a moment under her smile before swiftly regaining his footing. He gave a smile of his own, though the result was much less alluring than hers. “The Master wants t'know when yer ol' man'll be able ta pay up.” Sidling closer to Meral, his smile twisted in a way that had never boded well, “It's been three weeks now and 'e's gettin' anxious, is our Master.” Putting an arm around her, he continued, his voice now dropping to a too-intimate whisper, “O'course, I could try an' persuade 'im luv, if only I had some sign from you, that you really wanted me to.” His dirty fingers traced circles on her arm.

 

They were alone in the alley. No help would come in time, if she cried out. Meral knew of only one way to get rid of him. Swallowing bile, she made herself lean slightly into him, while her hand reached up to clasp the hand that rested on her shoulder. Blinking up at him innocently, she spoke so that he wouldn't notice the direction her foot was sliding.

 

“A sign? From me? What could the Deputy of Laketown want with me?” Here, she dipped her eyes demurely, with a slight fluttering of her lashes.

 

He puffed at her words, just as she knew he would.

 

“And what sort of sign might you be looking for... Alfrid? A sign such as THIS?!

 

In one swift motion, she had spun about, twisting his arm and sending him careening off the walkway...and into the water. Before his head resurfaced, she had sprinted up the stairs and bolted the door securely behind her.

 

She used to be able to be honest with him, she reflected. Used to be able to tell him how deeply she loathed him, how she wished he might meet a horrible fate on the water. Or on the road. Or on the mountain or anywhere he pleased as long as it meant she was truly rid of him. But those days were long gone.

 

Her great grandfather had been the premier toymaker in Dale, when Thror ruled under the mountain. Her father and grandfather, had used their skills as craftsmen to eek out a living for them both on the Long Lake. But business was slow and there was little need for her father's skills anymore. The Master was greedy and demanded hefty taxes. Slowly, gradually, inevitably, they had fallen into debt. Alfrid was correct in his numbers, if not in his logic. It had been at least three weeks since her father had made any payments on his debts. A citizen of Laketown with debts was a problem for the Master. And where the Master saw a problem, Alfrid saw an opportunity.

 

Rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension there, Meral set about preparing the evening meal. Not that there was much to serve. One fish and a half-loaf of bread, the last food in the house. There was a man in Laketown who smuggled in fresh food for the townspeople when he could, but the Master was now watching him as well. Bard had his own family to care for. He couldn't help them today.

 

She had just finished decorating the food, for she had decided that if their fare could not be bountiful it might at least be pretty, when her father came in through the door. As he hung his coat on the hook inside the doorway and pulled up his sleeves to wash his hands, Meral noticed that he seemed older somehow. Now in many ways, especially by Laketown standards, her father was a man in his prime. His eyes were clear, his back straight and his hands both steady and strong. But there were subtle changes, changes Meral, in her devotion to her only parent, had been loathe to admit to herself. The way his pants hung more loosely about his increasingly lean hips, the broad shoulders, once proud and unbent, now stooped with the burdens he bore, the shadows that lurked at the back of his eyes, the lines on his dear face all bore testament to the worries and uncertainties of their lives. But that face lit up when he saw her, as it always had, and he smiled a sincere, if somewhat weary smile.

 

During supper, Meral did her best to keep up a stream of cheerful conversation to lighten the oppressive atmosphere in their tiny rooms, but there was very little in reply from her father. She did not let his silence bother her as it used to, however, because she knew that his moods had little, if anything to do with her. But there was the very real threat that they might lose their home at any moment. And it was for that knowledge that, somehow, their small dingy rooms seemed merely cozy and well-worn, their meager meal full of flavor. Meral had lived here all her life. Had loathed it all her life. It was cold in winter and warm in summer and damp. So very damp. It permeated the walls and seeped into her bones. How long she had wished to leave here and go anywhere. And now that there was a very real possibility that would happen, she didn't know whether to be elated or terrified.

 

Eventually, the meal ended and her father silently stood to go wash up for bed. Once Meral had finished the few dishes they owned and had dusted their tiny table to her satisfaction, she blew out the candle and headed to her own room. Her father had the room that overlooked the water at the front of the street, while hers looked out over their neighbors behind them. Neither was a particularly inspiring view, but, on a very clear night such as this, when the moon was waxing bright and full over the Lonely Mountain, Meral liked to lean out her window and imagine all the far off places she would one day travel, all the people she would meet. She imagined what they might look like, what they might do. In these imaginings, she and her father had enough to feed them both and life a life of comfort and security. Moldy bread and unseasoned fish were never present. She imagined a life where her father, who loved not only to make but to _invent_ was praised for his passions, instead of laughed at and pitied and she could find a man who saw more to her than a pretty face, who wanted to _know_ her. Alfrid's grimy face popped into her mind. She would never meet him as long as she stayed here, of that she was certain.

 

Dreams of her future planted firmly in her mind, Meral turned from the window and climbed into bed. She would be awake before sunrise to enjoy a few moments of quiet before the day began and the neighbors were up and Alfrid was back around. The nights were always far too short, she reflected drowsily, before closing her eyes and surrendering to sleep.

 

When she next awoke, her father was in her room, staring out the window. Groggily, she sat up and asked him what the matter was. Turning towards her, he gave a crooked smile before telling everything was alright and that she should go back to sleep. Then, kissing her on the forehead as he had done when she was a child, he turned and left her room.

 

For three more weeks, his behavior continued thus; Staying up late, often coming to stare out her window, though he never told her what it was he studied so intently, waking early and working feverishly in his shop. He ate little and spoke less, but there was an odd light in his eyes that hadn't been there in a long time. So although she was bewildered at his behavior, she was so glad to see his passions revived that she held her silence.

 

Other than her father's strange behavior, life continued the same in Laketown. Alfrid continued to find ways to make a nuisance of himself, business was slow at the shop, and Meral found new ways to make small amounts of food seem like more.

 

Then one day, when the crisp shill of fall was deepening to the biting cold of winter, the odd silence between father and daughter was broken when he announced to Meral that he had found a way to pay his debts. It there was a merchant from the North who had a market for toys but no one to supply them. The man had come by the Long Lake one day on his route and had come by the shop. He was so taken with the life and charm in the small carvings and toys that he was decided on the spot. The two were to meet in a village that rested in between their homes. Meral's father would leave in the morning.

 

“If that was all that you had on your mind, why didn't you say something sooner?”

 

“I was afraid to say anything, to get your hopes up in case it didn't work out. But it will, things will be different now, I can feel it.”

 

Standing, she crossed the room to her father and, hugged him before returning to the shirt she had been mending with renewed energy. It was old and worn, as all their things were, but she would make it as good as new. She knew what this deal could mean for them both- food, clothing, status. The Master would have his gold and Alfrid would have no call to bother her anymore.

 

That night, she prepared the most elegant and filling meal she could manage. She had done some mending for the family behind them and had been given three eggs as payment. A similar chore for the widow across the water had provided her with cheese and a small bundle of vegetables- a valuable commodity in Laketown. She beat the eggs together with a fork and cooked them with the cheese and vegetables. When she brought the meal to her father, he looked up at her with surprise. It had been a very long time since they had had anything as decadent as an omelet.

 

Meral looked up briefly from her plate to see her father studying her.

  
“Dearest Meral, you have cared and provided for your old father since you were young. But now I will be able to provide for you.”

 

Her father's words caused an ache of tenderness to swell in Meral's chest. Reaching for him, she clasped his hand and resumed eating. Things would be better now, she told herself. Things would be wonderful.

 

When they retired for the night, Meral went to the window to gaze at the moon. But there was no moon, only a faint glow behind a thick screen of clouds. Disappointed, but determined not to let it dampen her spirits, she turned from the window and prepared for bed. Her father would be leaving early in the morning and she wanted to be there to see him off.

 

Meral's father stood at the doorway of his daughter's room, watching her sleep. As she had grown, he had taught her, comforted her, guided her. He had never deceived her before. Not like this. And he wasn't sure what hurt more; the fact that he had stooped to lying to the only person in his life that mattered, or that she had believed him so easily. When he told her of the man who came to his shop she had looked so hopeful, so bright and full of life, just as she should have her entire life, he had known he could never tell her the truth, could never tell her of the foolish venture he was about to embark on.

 

It was a mark of how much she trusted him, he reflected grimly, that she had embraced his words and overlooked the obvious facts.

 

No one came to Laketown.

 

 

 

 

_`~`~`~`  
_

 

 

 

Early the next morning, when the mist swirled thickly about them and the sun had not yet risen, father and daughter bid farewell to each other. Meral had packed all the food she could find for her father and had bundled him up warmly in his thickest coat. The sky had looked darker every day and she knew she would not see him for a very long time. But he did not need to worry about her when he was facing the perils of the road alone, so she smiled bravely told him to go before she bodily removed him from the kitchen. They both laughed at that.

 

“Is there anything you'd like me to bring you from my travels?”

 

Meral glanced around their small kitchen and noted the lack of color. Smiling widely she said, “Bring me back a rose. One that is in full bloom and has no flaws.”

 

Then they embraced and with a final promise from each to the other to be careful, Meral's father whirled and left their home. Meral immediately ran to the window to watch his retreating back. She did not know who he was going to meet with, but she hoped they dealt fairly with him.

 

 


	3. Chapter Two

 

 

At the top of a small hill, Meral's father paused to glance back one last time. The sun was just now barely peeking over the horizon. The Master and that weasel he kept with him would not be awake for some time now. Meral knew what to tell anyone who asked: that he was sick and needed absolute quiet. He felt a brief, but sharp pang of guilt for leaving Meral to fend for herself but quickly pushed it away. He was doing this _for_ Meral, after all. His only child and last link to his late wife was both beautiful and intelligent- she deserved a life so much better than the one he had managed to provide so far. With the fruits of this venture he would be able to take her away from all this, give her the finest dresses, the best food. They would never need to work again. He just had to live through these next days...

 

As if in answer, just as the sun crested the tops of the trees, a thick blanket of dark clouds rolled in and blocked its warm light. The wind picked up and for a moment, the old man considered the possibility that this was a bad omen before quickly shrugging off the absurd idea. Omens were for children. Casting aside his misgivings, he turned and once again began the long trek that would lead him to his fortune.

 

Or his doom.

 

 

 

_/^/^/^/_

 

 

 

The five days he had predicted for his journey turned into a full week. One week became two. The weeks soon turned to months. By the third month, Meral was running out of excuses, both to herself and to the increasingly curious townspeople. She had appeased Alfrid and the Master by working in her father's shop. As long as she worked they would not question her father's mysterious absence. This both relieved and angered her. Could they so easily forget a man who had been an essential part of the community for so many years? And yet the answer came as easily as the question had: yes, they could. People, she had discovered, were little more than a means to an end for Alfrid and nothing but tiny cogs in a machine designed to meet every need to the Master.

 

Laketown, she reflected grimly, was nothing like the stories of Dale she had grown up with. Wide, paved streets curving around shops and restaurants, taverns and dance halls. Dale had been a place of light and music and dancing, of innovation fueling a healthy and growing economy. It had been prosperous and beautiful, the stories proclaimed. There was no beauty in Laketown, only work and sweat, many hours of labor for a few pieces of gold, high taxes and nothing to show for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_/^/^/^/_

 

 

As Meral's father lay hands on the base of the mountain, and assessed it up close for the first time, he could not deny the doubt that briefly took hold of his heart. A brook babbled nearby, a robin sang to her chicks, yet these gentle sounds of nature could not quell the sense of trepidation. He saw no door, no cracks, nothing that would signal a possible entrance. Nothing, that is, save the insistent voice in his head telling him to _climb_.

 

He had not come this far to back out now, so climb he did. For  five long days, he dragged himself up the ruthless mountain. He rested on small sharp ledges, never fully sleeping for fear that he would fall to his death. The exertion of the climb required him to leave behind his pack, containing his food, water, and weapons. It rained bitterly cold on the second night, stripping him of any comfort his worn, woolen coat had to offer. The blessing, he mused to himself, was that the cold had at least numbed his hands, allowing him to ignore the way the stone tore into his flesh.

 

By the time he reached the top of the mountain, he could no longer be certain of the day, or even the hour. Time had begun to blur, pulled out of focus by the cold and lack of nourishment.  He willed his eyes to focus, determined, even in his misery, to be successful. He did not see a door. He saw, instead, a blessed cave, deep enough to block the wind. Had he been more alert he might have noticed the strange shapes moving in the shadows, the hungry gleam of yellow eyes. He stepped gratefully into the shelter.

 

He realized the danger too late. The creature was upon his back before his ears registered the presence of another. They both lurched forward, and Meral's father lost his breath, unable to fully process what was happening.

 

The fatal strike never came. Both man and creature instead crashed through the back of the cave. The sound of glass breaking was barely heard in the background as a golden sea rushed to meet them.

 

The last thing Meral's father registered, before he lost consciousness was the unmistakable sensation of his nose breaking.

 

 

 

 

_/^/^/^/_

 

 

 

When he next opened his eyes, Meral's father was certain that he had died. There was no light around him and no icy wind on earth could produce the bone-deep cold he felt. All was silent. No rats scurried around him. He could not move. Was he awaiting burial even now, his soul simply waiting to move on?

 

He had so many questions and yet not the will to care if they were ever answered. There were voices echoing in his head, memories clamoring to be recognized. There were faces too. They never stayed long enough to be identified, so he let them go without protest. Is this the time between life and death, he mused, where all one's life choices were brought before the deceased? Was he now facing his reckoning for all his mistakes? If that were so, he felt certain that he would be able recall the events of this life. He remembered nothing, however. And so he floated in the blackness.

 

The funny thing about such a notion, is that it prompts the most basic of feelings in a person. The strongest to reach him was regret. He would not be here if not for these as-yet nameless crimes...the stubbornness that kept his family in Laketown, eventually costing him his wife's life, his spineless approach to that snake Alfrid who was always slithering around his daughter...

 

His daughter...

 

His daughter... the phrase sounded in his mind like a heartbeat.

 

...daughter...

 

...daughter...

 

... Meral!

 

Like one taking their first breath after nearly drowning, he broke from the impenetrable blackness as his mind reestablished itself and he recalled her darling face to him. His sight returned and he gazed up into a gigantic face, covered in scales, amber eyes keenly assessing and the hideous fanged mouth...

 

That mouth... it was curving into what could only be a smile.

 

“And here I had believed you would never wake. I am many things, but a poor sportsman, I am not.”

 

The enormous creature set him on his feet. Then it backed away, and, crouching low with its glowing eyes flashing in anticipation, spoke again.

 

“Run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my pretties, I have a new chapter for you!! It's quite short and I may edit it at some point soon, but I have a better idea now of how I want this story to unfold.
> 
> On another note, I am considering naming Meral's father. Any thoughts on what a good name for such a man might be?
> 
> Let me know!
> 
> ~EA


End file.
